Dissonance
by WAR-Operative
Summary: Like Anne's "Bonus Theaters," 'Dissonance' is my collection of giftfics, prompts, drabbles, and what-have-you. She calls him a Liar. Her own little Liar. . . But who's constructed the bigger lie? "A Beautiful Lie" exposes a lot of things Erica wished stayed hidden. And Markata's insistent on proving she's not as honest as she claims. . .
1. For Anne: Snowfall

**Dissonance  
**

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer:** I don't own this. . . or do I? Nah, I don't. So don't sue me. I'm already in enough debt with my student loans.

**Author's Notes: **What. . . What is this?

What is this _new story?! _

What the hell. . . Felline? Felline, why is your name all over this document - waitaminute. I know what happened. Somehow, Moon, Anne and I all entered into a contract with Kyuubey. . . Somehow a wish involving giftfics happened. Haha, that would be the worst wish ever, ladies. But in all seriousness, somehow we wound up doing a giftfic exchange. We all challenged each other to write outside of our comfort zones.

This is not going to be a one-time deal, folks. In fact, I don't even know how long it's going to be. I know we have more giftfic exchanges planned in the future, but we'll have to see where and when they'll be.

**Warnings: **Nothing, except for stylistic things FF loves to om nom. Sappy fluff. AU. Silly things abound. . . You have been warned.

* * *

How was it that Lepra could be so strong, and she was so weak?

Felline stood, stiff and still, her hands balled into fists at her sides, her jaw clenched tight. She knew that if she relaxed just an iota, she would come loose and launch herself at the she-cats standing in front of her. There were four of them, each looking more sinister and catty than the last - and oh, how Felline wanted to reach over and smack the smug smiles off their faces. _If Lepra were here_, she thought, _they'd be cut down by her words_. Lepra wouldn't even resort to violence - she'd only have to open her mouth, and her words, as deadly as any sword, would cut them in half.

But Felline wasn't even half the cat her sister was. . . She was just the lowly second sibling, forever struggling to wriggle out of her elder's shadow. Where Lepra could outwit, outsmart, and outspeak, Felline was. . . well, nothing.

"What's the matter, cub?" The ringleader asked, quirking her head to the side. Beautiful, fiery red hair spilled over one of her shoulders, pinned elegantly by her head. The lioness narrowed her eyes, slits tightening against the beautiful sky-blue Felline saw, "Cat got your tongue?"

The other she-cats snickered.

Felline swallowed againsta tightness in her throat, trying to struggle to contain the words that threatened to spew forth.

"Oh, my, I believe she was never taught how to properly address her elders," Another piped in - a jaguar - and grinned, "Go ahead, little cub. Speak up!"

"Tell us." The third crony piped up.

"Come on, don't just sit there - _speak!_"

_What would Lepra do?_

Already, Felline could picture it: Lepra, poised above her, a frown marring her graceful and beautiful features, a wide variety of reprimands leaving her as she told Felline that ever time she brought discord on their family name, General Snow - their _father _\- had to deal with the family name in disgrace. As his daughters, it was their job to ensure that Snow could tend to his duties as Captain of the Royal Guard. . . not Captain to the Family Name.

The lioness leaned in, a snarl on her lips. "_Speak!_"

Felline felt her jaw nearly crack as she clenched it - and then, just before she could swallow her words, the dam finally broke. Lepra snapped her eyes up, glaring at the lioness, who blinked in surprise at her sudden venom.

_"Leave me alone!_" Felline yelled, her throat tight and constricting as she stepped forward. Her own actions surprised even herself - there was no way she could be this bold and daring - that was reserved only for Lepra.

But, Felline thought with awe, that was exactly what she was being: bold, daring. . . and very stupid. She watched as her body lifted up her arm, and with surprising speed, the white-and-black speckled furry limb raced forward and slapped the lioness across the cheek. The fiery red hair splashed across the air as the she-cat moved, her features drawn wide in shock. Felline stood there, blinking at the teenage she-cat as she straightened, watching as her shock morphed to raged.

The lioness snarled something _very _unflattering, and Felline yelped as she jumped forward, and in a fluid movement Felline never thought her capable of, she tackled Felline down to the ground, and starting clawing and punching her, kicking and screeching. Felline tried to curl up into a tiny ball, trying to protect herself, but the she-cat was stronger and bigger and faster. The tears spilled over her cheeks, and Felline tasted blood in her mouth as the she-cat punched her on the cheek. She snarled and growled above the younger leopard in rage, cursing and swearing at her, her friends cheering her on.

"Hey!" A young, male voice cried, "Hey! Stop that!"

The lioness did not heed his words. Felline froze for a moment, fearing that Lepra had somehow stumbled upon them and witnessed yet another episode of "Felline besmirching the family name in the royal palace" but to her eternal relief, it was not her older sister. It was another young lion. Above her, her assailant did not stop - but finally did as the young lion tackled her. Felline laid there on the ground, breathing heavily, and she watched as the lioness struggled for just another second before she stilled, looking at Felline's savior.

Another lion, the same age as Felline.

Everyone stopped, and Felline felt like her gasp could be heard around the world as they all realized just _who _had rescued her.

Lion-O.

The _prince._

Immediately, Felline scrambled up to her feet, and without hesitating, she fled. Voices called out to her back, but she ignored them as she sped away, and didn't stop until she'd finally secluded herself in the private gardens. Convinced she was finally alone, Felline walked along a hedge, and finally collapsed onto a bench, her chest heaving, and tears pouring down her cheeks. She looked down at herself, and saw she was covered in dirt, scratched, and her beautiful, pretty dress (noble clothes that Lepra always wore so much better than she did) was ripped. How she was going to explain this to Lepra, or, even more terrifying, her _father?_

Especially now that the prince had gotten involved. . . Oh, by Thundera, she'd really screwed up now.

Felline doubled over on herself, and her gulps of air turned into sobs as she wrapped her arms around herself and cried.

It was a mistake they'd ever left Foret, Felline thought irritably, clenching her claws around her midsection. She should have just stayed behind, lived with Master Kovu or something. She would have been more use to the scholar than she was at the royal palace. Felline hiccuped, already feeling her face get puffy and swollen as she wiped at her cheeks. Closing her eyes, she pressed the heels of her palms into her face, and she tried to stop crying.

She'd have to face them sometime, right?

She'd have to explain to her sister and her father what she'd done. . .

Felline heard a step behind her, and she gasped as hard bands looped around her waist, dragging her to her feet, and another hand slapped over her mouth and nose, pressing a heavy cloth against her face, smothering her scream. Felline struggled, kicking and writhing, thinking the lioness and her friends had come back to torment her a second time, but she heard a low, male voice hiss, 'hurry, Gatou!' and she knew they had nothing to do with this. A thick, sweet, cloying scent clogged her mouth and nose, making Felline's stomach curl. She tried to scream, but with every passing second, she felt herself getting more and more sleepy, her limbs growing heavy.

And then, before she knew it, the bony shoulder of a foreign cat was digging into her stomach, and darkness cobwebbed over her vision.

* * *

It had been hours, Felline was sure of that. She laid on the hard dirt ground, snowflakes drifting past her and settling onto her fur. In a hazy, drugged way, she just laid there and watched them, only vaguely interested in it all. Whatever they had hit her with remained heavy and hard in her systems, leaving her only semi-functional. In the weird way that drugs worked, Felline was only partially aware of the world around her, and was much more interested in the internal world of her mind, instead.

Like, she was obsessed, and amused, with the notion that she was glad to be a leopard, and not a jaguar, like the men who had captured her. Her fur was much longer, and suited to the cold - Foret was one of the coldest cities in all of Thundera - and jaguars were not suited to the cold like she was. However, in the chilly winter, Felline was surprised to find she wasn't warm. She wasn't cold, either, she just. . . Was. And that surprised her even further - when somebody was kidnapped, and drugged, weren't they supposed to be scared, cold, and hurt?

Well, she was hurt. Her wrists and ankles had been tied so tightly, the rope had cut through her fur, and cracked and broken her skin. And she _was _scared. . . but for what? Nobody would miss her. Lepra would get over her disappearance, and she doubted that the great General Snow would even notice that his second daughter was missing. . . or dead. Was she even alive? Felline didn't know. So that, she mused, was why she thought the jaguar's plan was so, so flawed.

They were using her as a hostage, holding her for ransom. A high ransom, no less.

And they were stupid for it. Who would come looking for her? Nobody, that was who. She was just one of the shadowy nobles that sat in King Claudus's chambers - diluted, of course, given that Lepra was the eldest, and therefore, more noble and apt to inherit everything to General Snow's name. Felline would be incredibly lucky if she could even get a fourth of what her sister would.

"It's cold!" Gatou said, his feet passing within inches of her face.

"Well, what did you expect? It's winter, nitwit. Hey. Hey, listen, did you hear that?"

"It's a frozen branch breaking, like I told you." Gatou snapped. "Now help me move her."

The other cat growled some kind of approval, and then hands wrapped around her middle, picking her up and hefting her over to a cart. Felline hit the cold wood with a hard _thunk_, and grimaced as a muted lance of pain shot through her.

"Gatou!" The cat said, "I heard it! Over here. . ."

Gatou growled irritably above her, cursing and swearing under his breath.

"Does it matter, you fool? We need to get back to the safehouse before anything happens. And it's _cold_."

"Just one minu-_ghack!_"

Silence.

Felline saw Gatou tense, growing suspicious, and he turned around, allowing Felline to see the wide expanses of the forest behind him. Everything looked serene and beautiful with the quickly-accumulating snow that was falling on top of everything. Felline let a small smile grace her lips as her eyes closed again. She felt exhausted, even though she was positive she'd slept for hours. The area surrounding Thundera was desert, and plains. The only forest she knew of was a decent five hours away from the outer gates.

"Jargo? Gatou asked, "Jargo, come out!"

She heard another rustle, and the sound of a sword being drawn. . . and then steel clashing against steel. Felline woke up, opening her eyes again, and watched as sparks flew. Gatou and another, much smaller opponent were going head-to-head. . . And then there was only silence again.

Felline stirred when warm hands gently brushed over her arms, finding the bindings, and made short work of slicing them cleanly. The same followed for her ankles,freeing her entirely from her bindings. Arms gently cradled her, one sliding under her neck, and the second under her legs, lifting her off the cart. They knelt, bracing her on their knee, and Felline tried to find the energy to come to.

"Hey. Hey, wake up! Are you okay?"

Her eyes fluttered open, and she blinked a few times as a blurry world of night and snowflakes came into focus. And then two pairs of crystal blue eyes, and a spiky mane of fiery red hair followed. Felline blinked.

"Lion. . . Lion-O?"

He grinned, flashing fangs at her in the moonlight.

"Yeah. Hold on, I'm going to move you - don't worry, I'll get us back home."

With speed and fluidity, the young prince somehow maneuvered himself in front of her, and hefted her up onto his back. She was too weak to hold herself, so he laced his hands together and placed them under her backside - which, in any normal situation, would have made her blush fiercely and run away screaming, but the only thing Felline thought of doing in that moment was just sitting there, letting Lion-O hold her. He leaned forward as he walked, letting her arms weakly hang over his shoulders, and Felline felt her eyes closing as the heat of his back seeped into her. He smelled nice, she mused, like Foret in the summer, but with something heady and spicy mixed in. He smelled like a lion.

Sometime into their walk, she stirred again, and her eyes fluttered open a second time. She was beginning to feel better - not anywhere near 100%, just a little better - and she blinked as she watched the snowflakes fluttering down.

"Lion-O?" She asked, her voice thick in her mouth, her tongue feeling like cotton, "Why did you come for me?"

Lion-O huffed a small chuckle, his breath clouding in front of his face. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I'm nobody," She said, tears burning in her eyes, "I'm just a cat."

That's what the lioness had said, Felline remembered. A filthy commoner stepping foot where she didn't belong, treading ground forbidden to her, pretending to be royalty when she was, in fact, nothing but low-class trash.

"No, you're not," Lion-O replied, enough conviction in his voice to make her tears stop, "You're not just _some _cat. You're a _ThunderCat_. And as a prince, it's my duty to look out for you."

"B-But how did you. . ." She mumbled, tears gathering in her eyes.

She felt him chuckle. "I followed you. I was worried about you, but it took me a little while to find you in the gardens. And by the time I did, they'd. . ." He trailed off, his voice souring slightly, but then he gave a minute shake of his head and continued, ". . . they were armed, and I wasn't. So I followed them."

For hours. He'd followed them for _hours_.

Felline was so touched by his words, that she felt the tears build, and then spill over her cheeks. She smiled, something small and insecure, and she whispered a tiny 'thank you' against his neck. A moment later, and Lion-O paused. "The snowfall is too thick," He said, "There's a small cave I saw over there - we'll have to stay in it for the night."

Felline mumbled her approval, and true to Lion-O's word, there was a small cave, tucked just off the beaten path. Felline normally would have been more attentive, but she still felt heady and light, like somebody had shoved cotton and fabric under her skin. She let Lion-O gently put her onto the ground, and she saw the lion hesitate, saying something about a fire, and he turned to leave. Felline battled a sudden, inexplicable wave of panic, and with an audacity Felline could barely imagine herself having, she reached out and grabbed his hand.

"Don't leave me," She whispered, "I don't want to be alone. Not anymore. I'm tired. I'm cold." Her eyelashes felt wet, already, more tears building.

And Lion-O, so unlike the other judgemental Cats she'd met, and what she'd thought he'd be, he smiled down at her. And instead of telling her she was being irrational, as Lepra would, or that she needed to hide her emotions, as Snow would, he moved, sitting down right next to her, pressing himself against her side. He wrapped an arm around her. . . and for the first time in her life, Felline actually, truly, honestly felt _warm. _

"Don't worry." Lion-O said, pressing the side of his head against her own, "You won't be. Not anymore. . . I promise."

Felline smiled, her eyes drifting shut again as sleep overtook her.

Despite the chill of the snowfall and the winter, Felline curled into the warmth next to her, and finally, for the first time in her life. . . she felt at peace.


	2. Romance Prompt: Smile

**Dissonance  
**

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer:** I don't own this. . . or do I? Nah, I don't. So don't sue me. I'm already in enough debt with my student loans.

**Author's Notes: **Okay, kids, I apologize for the slightly lengthy author's note, but there's a few things that I need to address before I get into this.

1.) I recently accepted a new job. . . in South Korea. This means I will be relocating shortly from the US to Korea. As in, next month. I will be living abroad for a year, and if I like the environment and if my employers like me, I could have chances to renew my contract. This is big news to me because I've been working in customer service/retail, and I _finally _get to go into my career field. I'm very excited. Here's to hoping I ace my job and don't get fired over the next few months, yeah?

2.) The Darkest Mind is writing this wonderful giftfic for me. I am so sorry I have not been able to review all the chapters, but I have read every single one of them. I'm sorry that it's taking me so long to update, but I love reading your gift fic. It's wonderful! I love every chapter, and there's a few where you really hit Erica and Markata on the head - I'm excited to see what you think of their relationship the further I explain it in ROOTA. But your writing is wonderful, and if you haven't gotten a chance to read it, I highly recommend it! The story is a bunch of one-shots and drabbles and I love every single chapter.

3.) Moon and Anne are still my BFF's and I'm sorry I haven't been replying to you ladies. Soon. _Soon_.

4.) Work bumped me from no hours to here-have-all-the-hours-and-more. I get _six hours _a day to myself. No, I'm not kidding. This is how much free time I have. I work 40 hours a week, I drive 10 hours to and from work, and I only sleep for about 5 a day. This has just _killed _my motivation for _everything_. Lately all I've been managing to do is scrape up inspiration for diddly _squat_. I get home, stare blankly at a wall, do a few errands, and that's it.

Does this mean I'm putting ROOTA on hiatus? No. Does this mean I just do not have the inspiration to write anything? Yes. The only thing I've really been able to do is play video games. I just got the Evil Within and I'm still playing Destiny. . . and Warframe. It is now normal behavior for me to wake up at 3-4AM in the morning just so I can play with friends because I just _don't have the time_.

So. Thank you, thank you everyone for being so patient and sending kind PMs my way. I have not forgotten you. I have not forgotten the story. Rest assured, I am trying to write it, but it is hard. Work saps any and all of my creativity. I'm quitting at the end of this month so I can get my South Korea stuff prepared. When I go overseas, I will have Saturdays and Sundays off from work, but I can't guarantee I'll be able to write anything until I get into the groove of my new job. And that might take a while.

So. Long author's note aside. . .

_let's get onto the drabble. _

So, I forgot exactly what prompted thi - but I think I asked Anne "hey. Let's write a prompt based on a genre. I spun the wheel and it landed on romance. But I don't like writing sappy romance. In case you guys haven't noticed, I write _tragedy_. I crave angst and blood and gore and darkness.

So somehow the prompt was "romantically pair them with a character you never thought you would"

Anne and I share another weird writing quirk: I love writing romance with characters with age gaps. Don't ask why or how, but I love exploring those kinds of relationships. So, without further ado, here you go. It's the only way I could write romance, pinky promise. If you have any questions or concerns, please PM me. Note: this chapter, like 99% of the things I plan on writing for Dissoance, are AU.

**Warnings: **Nothing, except for stylistic things FF loves to om nom. Romance, but not like you'd expect. Have fun!

* * *

Above him, the sky smoldered.

Black eyes flicked to and fro, looking for the stars, the universe - the galaxy itself. . . But he found nothing but ash and embers. He looked down, to the fires that burned quietly on the ground, content with their meals, sating their wicked appetites. Before him, the dead and the dying were splayed out, blood splashed in artful arches around them. He was unaffected as he looked upon them. They did not faze him.

Markata Ra-Mes had been the one to kill most of them, to order those men who followed him to wage the assault.

He felt no remorse, no sympathy, no pity. This war had no need of these emotions. It only had need for action. Obedience. Cohesiveness. He had sworn to those under his command that he would see them through this war. . . alive _or _dead. The souls who had lost their lives today had only fought and died for their - humanity's - cause. There was no need to mourn them. They had died honorably, and without fear.

The only thing that Markata mourned was the smoke clogging the sky, obstructing the stars. Space filled him with peace, allowed him a moment to pause and ease the troubles from his mind. . . tonight, however, that would appear not to be the case. He would have to live with his troubled emotions, whether he wanted them or not. He expelled a tiny breath, something that could probably pass for a sigh.

A small noise caught his attention, and he looked down again, tearing his eyes away from the seething ashes in the sky. Down, on the battlefield, not far below him, a familiar head of blonde hair was tearing herself out of a pile of wreckage.

Ah, the girl.

Markata moved, abandoning his perch, and with fluid grace, picked his way down the rocky slope with ease and reached the cinders of the Terran village. He moved to her, watching (just for a moment) as she cursed and wriggled, one hand waving in the air uselessly as she tried to find something to grab onto and drag herself out. Small. Feminine. Markata still thought these things of her, despite the three years he'd known her.

And still as hopeless as ever. How had such a child lived this long in such a bloody war?

Markata reached forward, grabbing the hand, and felt her body lock up, her fingers refusing to grab hold of him in turn. She was uncertain if he was friend or foe, human or alien. The tense in her body grew violent, but before the child could think of blowing him back or shredding the building, Markata reached out and touched her mind with his own.

_Relax, lieutenant._

She did, immediately. Bracing himself on the rubble of the Terran building, Markata pulled, and with a mental flex, Erica helped free herself. He pulled her up to her feet, and she coughed, scrubbing at her tongue, dirt and dust in her mouth. She looked up at him, her lips stretching into a wide, albeit weary, smile.

"Thanks, Captain. I'm sorry - when the bomb went off I got stuck."

Markata stared at her, watching her eyes gleam in the firelight.

And for a moment, just a single, solitary second, he wondered an impossible, insane notion. What would it be like to love a woman like this? He had no need for love - he had a hard time picturing it. Even then, no images, thoughts, or fantasies came to him. He just stared. But he could feel - other soldiers hugged their beloved close to them. Her hand was small, almost delicate, in his own, and he knew this was how others chose to show affection to their partners.

Erica Riley was almost entirely insane, he was sure of it.

Even now, covered in blood and dirt and standing among the lucky few who were able to escape the direct blast, she was smiling. Once, he remembered the feverish whispers of the men and women under his command who wondered if she was the devil herself. He'd been sent to retrieve her on a routine extraction - and he'd found her, covered in blood, practically dripping in it, but she'd smiled at him, acting as if she hadn't a care in the world.

But he knew otherwise.

Riley lied to everyone, but Markata could see through her. He saw through everybody - it was one of his many talents. Under the implants, under the machinery and technology that was threaded through her fragile, human skin. . . She was afraid. At the very core of herself, she was seeded with fear, just like everyone else.

But next to that, there was an innocence about her, a fragile, precious little thing he could barely begin to describe. How a teenager, a war veteran, managed to keep this fragile treasure alive. . . He would never know. That was her power, he supposed.

What would it be to hold that innocence in his hands?

"Captain?"

He blinked. She was looking up at him, her brows furrowed, her expression confused.

Instead, he released her hand and turned, beginning to walk away.

"This is Markata Ra-Mes, requesting immediate pickup for my soldiers." He spoke, tapping at his throat to activate his comms. The radio crackled for just a second, silence filling the air, and finally, it beeped.

"_Request acknowledged. Prep landing zone for the transport. Good to hear from you, Zero._"

"Captain?" Riley asked again, her voice far too loud in the space between them.

"Riley. . ."

"Yes?"

". . . how can you still smile?"

* * *

Watching her fight was an oddity. Her body moved in weird, jerky twists - a combination of her style and the Thunderian style she'd been taught while she lived at the palace. But still, Panthro watched. She was intriguing, if nothing else. Alien. _Different_. The first time he'd laid eyes on her, he'd been shocked at just _how _different she was. And he'd mistaken her for a Wood Forger. Her stature was the same, the stark whiteness of her hair color. . . But the face and the eyes were different.

The first night he'd seen her, staring at the ragtag group of survivors, covered in soot and sweat, she'd smiled up at him.

It had caught him off guard, to be entirely honest. Tygra had been battle-ready, Lion-O had looked grateful, Cheetara relieved. . . but she'd smiled. Like she was at ease with war and death and destruction. And as they fought, like they were now, Panthro knew that was the truth. As she spun and pirouetted here and there, swords flashing as she batted away laser blasts and ran forward, smacking lizards with the blunt edge of her blade, he knew that death and warfare were in her _blood_.

She was a soldier, just like he was, though she couldn't remember it.

Echo turned, just a hair too late, and she gave a muted cry of pain as a laser slammed through her arm. She dropped one of her swords, and fell to her knees, clutching at the blood flow, and Panthro leaped into her fray. A soldier, yes, but still very much a child. The lizards that were attempting to aim their guns at her all met a swift end at his fists, and he turned to the human, picking her up by the collar of her blue tunic and outright throwing her to the nearest rock outcropping he could spot. She gave a startled squeak as she hurtled through the air, but Panthro stopped paying attention to her after that.

She was a big girl, she could stop herself with that freaky human brain of hers before she cracked it on a rock. . . he hoped. Sometimes she seemed to have trouble doing that. Regardless, Panthro turned his attention back to the battle, nunchucks flying as he swept across the lizard forces like a plague, taking them out two, four, six at a time. Easy. They scattered like greenhorns when he broke their ranks.

A lizard landed a lucky strike onto his knee, sending him toppling down - and he heard a canon whirring in the distance, powering up. No doubt there was a bead drawn onto him already. Panthro tensed, trying to bolt up and run, but he knew there wasn't time.

_This is gonna hurt_-

A flash of white, and the human was standing in front of him, one hand in the air in front of her, fingers splayed, the other locked onto her elbow. The canon fired, and Panthro watched the air ripple in front of her, like it was made of water. The general didn't close his eyes - he watched the flash of light as the laser struck the mental shield,exploding and fragmenting into a swirling mass of colors. With a cry of effort, Echo shoved her body forward, and what was left of the shield caved in, reflecting the remnants of the blast right back to the canon.

It exploded, the fiery ball deafening and blinding the pair of them.

But then, as most battles did, it ended as quickly as it had begun.

Silence settled into the air, heavy and thick, and Panthro pushed himself up as Echo fell to her knees, covered in dirt, dust and sweat. She turned to him, flopping down to sit, panting as though she'd been running.

And she smiled at him.

Panthro stared, looking at that smile, weary and tired, but still very much present.

And he wondered. . . for an insane moment. . . what it would be like. . .

He shook his head. No.

He was an old Cat. He'd had his fair share of wooing women, but she was a child. A fragile one at that, far too innocent for any of his advances. He pushed himself up, and grabbing her gently, got her to her feet.

"Kid," He said, with a quiet huff of his own, "Don't stop smiling."


	3. For The Darkest Mind: A Beautiful Lie

**Dissonance  
**

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer:** I don't own this. . . or do I? Nah, I don't. So don't sue me. I'm already in enough debt with my student loans.

**Author's Notes: **First thing's first, this chapter is dedicated to the Darkest Mind. Mainly because that gift fic you're writing is so great, sweetie. I love reading every chapter of it - and trust me, I have! Believe it or not, you've really managed to hit a lot of nails on their heads when it comes to Erica, and that's pretty awesome considering you don't even know the half of it yet!

So, hun, this chapter is for you. 3

Now, I'm sorry I haven't updated ROOTA. I promise an update is coming on that - I _swear_. I was going to sit down and start writing it, but then I got severely side tracked with drawing a pic of Erica Riley. So I did that. And then this happened. So take these offerings instead. If you want to see Erica, shoot me a PM and I can show you what she looks like. I have a few ref pics of her I haven't posted anywhere because - quite frankly - they need to be redone.

But in any case, take this as an offering while I try to get myself buckled down for another ROOTA update. The next chapter will actually be a bit on the smaller side. I have to address some things before I can move on to more action, but we're getting there.

Pinky promise!

**Warnings: **Nothing, except for stylistic things FF loves to om nom. Language, thoughts of suicide, depictions of suicide and self-harm, and a lot of self-loathing.

This drabble gives you just a _fraction _of an insight into the mind of one Erica Riley. I haven't even begun to scratch the surface of her yet. But maybe I will.

*mumbles something about a future project called Ashes. . .*

* * *

"Sit down, lieutenant."

Markata's voice was calm in the dimly-lit rom.

Erica was in his private quarters, surrounded by a litany of flickering candles. Other girls would have said such a gesture was incredibly romantic. . . Erica knew that it was old habits from the war. Being out in the field, she'd often used torches and SynLights to give her enough light to read by.

Terrans always cut the power.

Odd trinkets and even more curious items surrounded her - she couldn't quite make heads or tails of what she was looking at. Not to mention the amount of languages she couldn't even begin to understand. Sure, she was semi-fluent in Terran (she kind of had to be), and there was English, a smattering of other languages, and her favorite. . .

She looked down at her hands, wiggled her fingers.

No, she didn't want to think about that.

"It's come to my attention, lieutenant, that you've been engaging in some rather. . . interesting activities in your spare time."

Erica craned her neck back, looking at her commanding officer. Markata sat still and imposing, olive skin blending him in with the darkness - it made him look imposing. His close-cropped black hair was immaculate, and all of his scars, a few shades lighter than his original skin tone, stood out in the dim lighting. His eyes were locked onto her, dark and multitudes more impassive than he could ever hope to be. Compared to her commanding officer, she was an open book.

She shrugged.

"So?"

"I find this unacceptable."

"Never bothered you before."

"No, but you understood your limits back then. I have to say, you've become rather obsessive with the matter."

"I haven't died yet."

"Within the last three months, I have had to preform emergency medical procedures on you. Your heart stopped all three times."

". . . I didn't stay dead."

"This is, of course, not counting the other five times that your little bear preformed the same procedures in the privacy of your own room-"

"Markata, that's none of your business-"

His eyes narrowed, and her mouth shut with a sharp _click_. Erica believed herself to be an intelligent girl. When Markata got That Look, she knew it was in her best interests to shut the fuck up. A long moment of silence passed, and Markata stared at her, and she stared right back, waiting for him to scold her, to tell her to Stop Being Stupid, Don't Do It Again - whatever the newest lecture was.

But no. Instead, Markata leaned over, picked up two small items, and held them in his hands.

"Riley, what are these?"

"A gun." She replied. "And. . . a deck of cards?"

"Correct." Markata said. "These are not just cards - they're Tarot cards. Are you aware that they're Egyptian in origin?"

Erica frowned, opening up her mouth to protest that statement, but Markata cut her off.

"Since you're so fond of playing games, lieutenant, we're going to play together. We ask each other questions. The cards will be able to tell if we're lying. . . and the penalty is picking up the gun, holding it to your temple, and pulling the trigger."

Markata didn't bother looking at her, didn't care what her reaction was - and that made her blood boil. He was proposing hat they play a _game? _Erica scoffed, putting a hand on the table and getting up.

"I don't nee-"

A hand snatched her wrist, yanking her forward. She sprawled ungracefully on the table, and when Markata squeezed, Erica bit back a hiss of pain. Fresh blood leeched onto her bandages, an his black eyes bored into her.

"Yes." He answered simply, his voice cold. "You do. I have need of you in this war, Riley. And you, who was brought to me by forces even beyond my comprehension. . . You are wasting this precious gift you received. A second chance at life - and you squander it. Now. _Sit_."

The freezing edge to his voice didn't leave her room to argue.

He released her, and Erica sat down, ignoring the growing red stain on the bandage around her right wrist. Yeah, she'd taken a knife to her wrists again, had sliced open her skin as many times as she was able. . . But that was _her business_.

It had happened just hours ago. How Markata had found out, she had no idea - she'd barricaded herself inside of her room and started cutting. Sunny's broken, glitched voice had begged and pleaded with her to stop, but it had only spurred her on. She'd been lost to memories, then, to old habits.

Years ago, at her entry to the war, it had been therapeutic. She deserved it.

All of those neat, little lines were her crosses to bear, her scars and her reminders. She'd failed. She'd failed so many countless times that she had deserved to have every inch of her skin branded in those lines. Just so everyone could see how spectacular of a failure she had become. . .

"_Ro-E! Ro-E! No! Exhibiting signs of psychosis! Don't get. . . gavel. . . give in to thoughts!_"

But she had.

She'd passed out, had woken up to her little Sunny wrapping up her wrists, having freshly stitched them. And what's when she'd received a call from Markata.

Markata put the gun on the table, right to the side of them. And in a graceful, practiced movement, he picked up the cards and fanned them out in the middle - in a perfect, straight line.

"How do I play?" Erica growled. She was not at all happy that she had to play this stupid game. And her wrists were hurting, her head was already pounding, and she just wanted to get some shuteye. Maybe she'd even let Sunny sleep with her this time.

"We ask each other questions, we answer, and we select a card. The card designates if you're lying or not."

"I can't read cards." She said, crossing her arms over her chest. "This game isn't fair."

"No, but I will play fairly, and tell the meanings to you. Now, let me begin. Lieutenant, are you actively attempting to kill yourself?"

Markata sat back, his hands resting on the table, his palms face down. He was the picture of calm and collection - but then again, he always was. Erica looked at him, and then her eyes flicked down to her wrists. her lips pulled into a very sharp frown.

"No."

"Is that why you allowed the child king to slice your thigh so deeply? Why you plunge headfirst into every fight without a care for its outcome? I watch you fight, Riley. My objectives - my _orders - _couldn't be any more forgotten. You care only for the clash of swords and the glimmer of blood. So tell me. . . Are you attempting to kill yourself?"

"No." She growled, her cheeks heating.

Okay, she might have gotten a little overzealous a few times, and she might have deliberately put off Markata's orders so she could spar with the Liar a little longer. . . but she always got the objective in the end, didn't she? Markata gestured to the cards in front of them.

"Select a card."

Erica rolled her eyes, but she didn't bother arguing. Next time he'd probably cement her ass to the floor with his brain. She lifted a hand and looked at the cards, suppressing a sigh. It was so random, and she had idea what Tarot cards were, but she was about to find out. She picked one up and flipped it over. It was glossy and painted beautifully, depicting a woman wrapped in a celestial shroud and surrounded by stars. She held one in her hands, glowing and glittering.

"The Star. Upright, it represents hope - this card would have been most suited to you. But upside down, its meaning is reversed. . . This means the opposite. Despair."

"And?"

"It means you're lying to me. Look at you, lieutenant. During the war I had no. . . _taste _for your habits but you at least had the decency to keep it concealed and under control. And now look at you. Charging into gunfire without care for where the bullets strike, launching yourself into the path of swords - you don't _care _if you live or die. And this tells me you have no regard for your life, and by extension, my mission. Pick up the gun."

Erica sat there, looking at him, wondering if she should just take her chances and have a mental spat with him. . . But something in her was interested to see where this was going. Markata wasn't lying to her (she'd served under him for years, even the Impassible Stone Wall had certain tells), but. . . Erica broke eye contact, picking up the gun. The stock was black, but the barrel was almost a white color. All in all, it was a plain gun, if not a little embellished.

"Is it loaded?"

"With one bullet."

"So it's chance that I might die if I pull the trigger."

"The stock has variable space - it pulls from the reserve in subspace. So yes. There are no bullets directly loaded in the magazine. . . but we'll see where fate takes us today, won't we, lieutenant Riley?"

Erica looked at him, her lips pulled into a sharp frown. They could play this game all day until the gun's AI system decided to pull that one bullet from subspace. But she looked at Markata, lifted the gun to her temple, and pressed it flush against her skin.

It almost felt warm in her touch. . . and very familiar. During her earlier years in the war, she'd almost been driven to suicide. It was no great secret that under the happiness and the smiles, and the hope for a better future, she suffered.

There was blood on her hands.

She was never going to be able to wash it off.

Erica pulled the trigger, heard the gun _click_.

Her brain hadn't exploded in her skull, so that was a good thing. She put the gun back down, and Markata nodded his head.

"Ask me a question."

"Why bother? I'm not essential to you anymore, Captain. We both know this. Maybe during the war I might have been of some use, but we both know that you could win this fight without me, without any of your other generals. . . without anyone but you."

"You're right. I could. But there are forces at work here even beyond my understanding, and I require assistance. As to why I care. . . I don't. Call it old habits dying hard - those under my command do not die."

If Erica were a lesser girl, his answer would have stung her. And maybe it did, on some level. . . but looking back - their relationship had never exactly been _close_. Sure, he'd saved her, and she'd even saved him a time or two. . . But it had been complicated. Yeah, she had liked it, and she'd eventually grown on him, too, but he had never come to her, sharing his dark secrets, and she'd never gone to him in times of need. They had fought in a war together.

Their bonds had been forged in blood, fire, and death.

Markata selected his card and flipped it over. It was a queen of some sort, sitting on a throne. She held two staffs in her hands, and her shroud puddled at her feet. Jars of incense clouded the air around her.

"The High Priestess. . . Apparently I lied, lieutenant. She tells us that I am harboring secrets. Apparently, secrets even from myself. Perhaps there is more affection for you than I thought, buried in the deepest recesses of my heart."

Erica stared at him blankly. "Really?"

His lips twitched. "I see your sense of humor isn't what it used to be. Forgive an old soldier for trying to lighten the mood."

Regardless, Markata did not pause when he picked up the gun, lifted it to his head, and pulled the trigger.

_Click_.

No bullet.

Erica didn't bother asking for an elaboration on his answer. He was interested in her being alive, and probably because he really _did _care, in his weird, Markata way.

"My turn. Is your allegiance with me, lieutenant? Or will you betray our case, and head to those who have, time and time again, turncoat? Or have you forgotten how they raised their knives to us, how they set fire to our home, slaughtered every man, woman and child-"

Maybe he didn't know the effect those words had on her.

But in an instance she was back in That Room, smelling smoke, seeing the fires, feeling the heat licking her skin, the screams, the blood, the hopelessness - something firm invaded her mind and pushed down the memory, leaving her sitting there, breathing heavily, her heart pounding. She glared at him.

He had helped her, suppressing the flashback before she was consumed in it, before the memories became hallucinations and her reality.

"Yes." She bit out. "I want to see them _dead_."

She whipped a hand out and flipped over a card, angrily brushing away tears when she finished.

Markata hummed.

"The Hierophant. You're telling the truth. A relief, that the last of humankind stands by my side. Your turn, lieutenant."

Erica took a moment, gathering her thoughts.

"What's in this for you? The war's over. Humankind is just the two of us - one. One of us. I know what you look like. And I don't know how it happened. . . And for once in my life, I don't care. I should. The old me would have asked how I'm still alive, how you're still alive. Did Terra's magic infect this planet? What happened? Why? Who? What? When? But I just. . . I just don't care. I don't care about any of it."

He didn't interrupt her babble. Erica took a steadying breath and shook her head. "So. What's it in it for you?"

Markata didn't smile, and a serious tension played over his muscles.

"Power. To ensure that something like Terra will never happen again."

He selected a card and flipped it over.

"The Chariot. Victory. Power. Will, drive - it all means the same thing. I speak the truth. Now, lieutenant, it it my turn again. Will you do whatever I ask during the course of my mission?"

"Yes."

She already had. Animals were animals, she didn't care if they died.

She'd already killed a few.

"Even if I ask you to throw yourself into a situation where it assures your death?"

"Yes."

Markata gestured to the cards.

Erica selected another, flipped it over, and stared at it. A sun shimmered in the surface of the card, coated in a gold powder. It was sickeningly happy and lively with hundreds of flowers and beautifully-rendered green landscapes flourishing under the bright ball of flame.

"The Sun. A bit of an odd choice, but regardless, the cards tell me you speak the truth. While normally it stands for happiness and optimism, it can also stand for enlightenment - in this instance, it tells me you will understand the meaning behind my objectives. But perhaps it carries another meaning - maybe you should let go of your past?"

Erica stared blankly, and then she shook her head.

"Your turn." He continued simply.

"Would you ask me to kill myself to further your cause?" Erica asked, looking at the gun pointedly.

Markata was her commanding officer. There was no way he'd do that, she was certain. . . But she was looking at him through a lens of the past. In the present, this Markata was very different. A little too different.

Markata shrugged. "yes. The goal I have in mind is worth any sacrifice. Even my own."

He reached for a card and flipped it over. This one had a man with a wand and a cup, but he was also wreathed in a shroud of stars, and he had a litany of magical tools scattered around him.

"The Magician. It falls in line with the Chariot. Loss, pain, power, diplomacy. . . Do you believe that I do not suffer alongside you, child? I, too, fought in Terra's bloody war for years. I watched countless men and women struggle to their last days on my orders. You believe I do not feel remorse when I ask you to place yourself in harm's way?"

Erica didn't know if she had an answer for him. She fiddled with her fingers, and then stopped just as abruptly. She didn't want to remember that. Moving her fingers in such a loving way.

"I think you've changed. You have changed very much. And I also think your intentions aren't as pure as you make them out to be."

Markata smiled wryly.

"If I have changed, so have you. You never used to be so insightful. . . Not to mention very morose. Now. I believe I must ask you one final question, and then I will be satisfied. . . Do you still love him?"

The question completely rocked her.

She just. . . She just hadn't been expecting it.

"No." She replied, her voice a bare whisper.

She didn't even have to lift up hand. The air in the room shivered, and Erica felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end as some _thing _swept through the room, heavy and oppressive. And somehow, as if by magic, several of the cards flipped over, turning from face-down to face up with a somewhat loud _thwip_.

Erica stilled. What had Markata been dabbling in since the end of the war?

But. . . But so many cards had flipped over. . .

"Well then." Markata said, leaning forward to inspect what had happened.

"It looks as though the cards agree and disagree with you on several counts. Look here. The Fool. A blind man who sets tread on paths, unknowing and uncaring of their consequences. I'd say that about suits you to a T, lieutenant. See here, how it's so closely touching the High Priestess? And notice how our beautiful queen is reversed? It means you're heavily dependent on others, and many variables ride on that dependency."

Erica felt fear creeping through her gut, and she didn't even know why.

Wait. . . Wait, no, she _did_.

Markata was doing what he used to, sitting down and invading her brain with his words, picking her over until there was nothing left. Erica had never felt the same after, had always staggered away from him, feeling as though her insides were buzzing and ashen. Markata could see _through _her, as though she weren't even a person, into the deepest parts of herself.

And he'd always stripped her, down to her bones.

It had always irritated-

_No. _

She clamped down on that thought.

She banished it.

Markata continued onward, his hands skimming the cards that had flipped up, not bothering to look at her.

"The Lovers - I knew this card was inevitable. We both know what I think of your relationship-"

Erica felt her power leeching out in response, and several flames on the candles began to rise higher, objects in the room lifting off of the floor.

"- fine, then. What I _thought _of your relationship with. . . him. This card indicates that it's not finished yet. It stands for choices in that love, a test - or a series of trails - you must overcome. . . Or perhaps you won't. . . The Wheel of Fortune. How interesting. Apparently destiny is telling you you are not yet free of its web. We'll have to see how deeply it wishes to entangle you."

"Here, Riley. Look here - the Justice card. I believe we both know exactly what this means - what it stands for. Probably the reason why you defied death. I don't blame you for wanting to seek retribution for humanity."

The card was beautiful - and the most terrifying. A woman, shrouded in a black dress speckled through the the stars themselves, stood in front of a shield. Her eyes were covered by a black blindfold, and her face was obscured with a metal mask. One half was red, and the other was gray. She held a scale in one hand, and a sword in the other.

"No," Erica croaked, interrupting him. "Not. . . Not exactly."

She didn't want to finish her sentence. Why she _really _pursued him.

Markata was quiet, but he didn't look at her, not yet. Erica closed her eyes, knowing he was waiting for her to speak again. He was going to force her to say it, to admit it.

And so she did, though the words were like glass in her throat and acid on her tongue.

"I don't care about them. I want revenge for what happened to _me_."

"No shame in that, Riley. It's basic human nature to lash back at those that struck first. Do you feel like a monster for indulging in such notions? I wouldn't call it selfishness, not exactly - especially since it was on such a grand scale. . . But the cards await. The next one is The Hanged Man. Martyrdom, sacrifice. . . I'd say the cards knew exactly what you were going to say, wouldn't you?"

Erica tried her best to breathe, to ignore the buzzing in her skull. He could always do this to her. Flay her with just his words. Nobody should be able to peel away her layers so thoroughly. To an outsider of this conversation, he was just talking about the cards, about what they stood for-

But Erica knew. All of his words held a second meaning.

He was talking about Terra.

"Look, lieutenant. The Death Card. Notice how it's sideways? It's both up _and _down. It means change, but resistance to it. The death of something, but maybe not. And here, the Tower and the Devil, so close together. The Tower stands for catastrophic change, and the Devil for addiction. I believe the cards are warning you that pursuing this revenge may bring about some very unwanted consequences."

"And finally. . . Judgement. And the World - see, Riley? These overlap. Absolution, rebirth, judgement - all tied to closely to this card, the World. The end. Something great looms on this horizon, and you'll soon get to experience it. No, then. . . Does this answer the question sufficiently enough? I believe so."

Markata stood, leaving the table - but he placed his hand on her shoulder. He didn't squeeze, didn't hold - just laid his hand there. Erica could feel the heat of it through her shirts, burning her skin, searing into her soul.

"We both know it did. I believe you know what to do next, lieutenant."

Her eyes were dry, her throat was tight, and her stomach was knotting. She swallowed anyway, her hands shaking as she reached for the gun.

"I don't love him." She whispered, "I _don't_."

"You don't?"

"Not after everything. I can't. I just _can't_."

"In your past few battles, you had the opportunity to take the child king's life. But you toyed with him instead. You kissed him. Licked his blood off your blade. "

Erica felt tears burning in her eyes. She tried to talk, but she couldn't.

Markata hummed, waiting.

She sat there, the gun suddenly so heavy in her hands. Had the bullet been pulled from subspace? Was it waiting in the chamber for her?

_I don't love him_.

Then why was she so afraid to put the gun up to her head?

_I don't _love him.

She started shaking, her entire body trembling, and with a savage cry, Erica whipped the gun up to her head and pressed it against her temple.

She had to prove it. To him. To herself. She wasn't in love with him. She _wasn't_.

Her finger tightened.

_Click_.

The noise made her infuriated and relieved. She threw the gun across the room, forcing her breaths to come in even, steady pauses instead of noisy, pathetic hiccups.

"I think it's time you stopped lying to me, lieutenant."

Erica was glad she was in Markata's private room.

She hadn't cried.

Not since That Day, with the fire and the screams. . . But she did then. She cried cold, silent tears as she sat in the chair, the stupid Tarot cards glittering on the tabletop in front of her, the truth so plainly obvious. . .

_I'm not in love with him. _

_I hate him. With every fiber of my soul. I do. I swear. . . _

Markata heard her thoughts, she knew it.

He said nothing.

Because she didn't know who the hell she was trying to convince. . .

Markata?

Or herself?


End file.
